


A Real Cup of Coffee

by LindsayBay



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindsayBay/pseuds/LindsayBay
Summary: What I came up with when someone requested I write a coffee shop AU with Merle.





	A Real Cup of Coffee

........................

Through the window of your small office, you see one of the men from the construction site next door walk into your coffee shop. He’s wearing a pair of coveralls, still clean. “May I help you, sir?” Anna chirps at him.  


“Gimme a coffee.”

“What kind?”

“Just… coffee. Black.”

“A grande? A venti?”

The man looks at Anna like she was speaking gibberish. “A cup. Of coffee. Large.”

“Do you want the roast of the day? It’s a fruit-forward blend from Afri--”

“Lady, I just want a cup of coffee!”

Anna’s smile slips a little. “But what kind?”

The man makes a growling noise and throws his hands up in the air. “I give up. Ain’t no damn coffee here!” He spins around and heads toward the door.

Oh, no. The construction next door is already decreasing customer traffic, and you’re hoping to partially make up the shortfall with business from the construction workers. You certainly don’t need any bad word of mouth. You dash out of your office. “Sir? Hold on, let me get you a cup of old-fashioned black coffee. On the house.”

“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.” The man smiles at you. He’s good looking in a rugged way and, you’re pretty sure, he knows it. He watches you while you pour him a cup of a strong Robusta medium roast, one that you know tastes much like the coffee one would get in a small town diner. You hand the cup to him and his fingers brush yours. “Much obliged,” he says, crinkling his eyes at you flirtily.

The construction workers are in and out all day, and you have to brew up more of that Robusta medium roast several times. In the early afternoon, the first man comes back in. His coveralls are unzipped to the waist, showing his wifebeater and an expanse of fuzzy, muscular chest. He’s shining with sweat and covered in a thin layer of dirt. “I don’t s’pose ya carry Coke?”  


“I’m sorry. We only have Italian soda. Raspberry, peach, strawberry.”

The man looks at the prices written on the chalkboard. “Four dollars for one o’ them? I don’t think so. Ya city people are outta yer damn minds .”

“I’ll just give you some ice water.” You just can’t stop giving things to this man.

You send Anna home at five and are preparing to close the shop. The man comes in again.The top half of his coveralls flap empty at his waist, and his shirt is sticking to his strong, broad-shouldered body with sweat. He’s filthy, and he smells like a man who’s been working and sweating all day.

“I was hopin’ to get some ice water for the road.”

“Sure.”

“Just don’t get too close to me. Need a shower real bad.”

“Well, if you want to wash up a little before your drive home, I’ve got a slop sink you can use in back.”

“Really? That’s awful nice of you.” He follows you to the cramped back room. He strips off his shirt and you can’t help staring. What a beautiful body, and the scars only seem to enhance it. He unzips his coveralls a little further, so they hang low on his hips. He seems to only have a pair of boxers on underneath. He turns the water on and sticks his whole head underneath, getting his hair wet and then gulping water straight from the tap. Then he cups his hands to collect water to dash on his chest and arms. “Whoo! Feels good!” He lathers up with your bar of soap, and uses your washcloth on his back.

You know you shouldn’t be staring like you are, but his wet, soapy torso is mesmerizing. He does a final rinse and you hand him a towel, which he uses vigorously. He grimaces as he pulls his dirty shirt back over his head. “You gonna have that _real_ coffee tomorrow, too?”

“Of course,” you say.

“See ya tomorrow, then. Thank a lot, darlin’.” He gives you a cheeky grin as he heads for the door.

................

“And that’s how I met your father,” you concluded.

Your daughter was looking at you in disbelief. “I’m sorry I asked now. I cannot believe I just had to listen to you talk about dad’s glistening torso for half an hour. Control your thirst!”

“If I had, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh my God, shut up! Now every time I’m in the back room, I’ll be picturing you staring at him like he’s a piece of meat.” She started filling napkin dispensers. “I swear to God, if you say one more word about my dad’s sweaty pecs, I will punch out my own eardrums with a spork.” A chime dinged as the coffee shop door opened. “Daddy! You’re here! I just finished up brewing that coffee that you like!” Your daughter turns to you and glares. “Remember, ho, his eyes are _up there_.”


End file.
